Camille Elliot's Blog, page 90

Submit my heart to God

I’ve over at the ChristiansRead blog with something “close to my heart,” so to speak. :)

"I’ve been discipling a young woman at church who used to be in my youth group, so I’ve seen her grow up, to an extent. She’s very busy with graduate school right now, but there’s a young man she’s met with whom she’s gotten closer.

It’s always hard for me to give advice or encouragement to young women when it comes to their love lives. Everyone’s experience with romantic relationships is different depending on each person’s personality, family background, and life experience."

Click here to read more

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 5a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 5a

Miranda welcomed the distraction of picking Christmas greens to decorate the house. Everyone was in a merry mood, no one paying attention to her, and she could calm herself.

She had thought Gerard would not expend much effort for her request to his mother, and had expected that path to be closed to her. His actions in enlisting the help of Cousin Laura had not only surprised her, but had caused hope to blossom in her chest.

She ought not to hope. It always led to disappointment.

And yet what else could she do when two people were suddenly championing her? She was unaccustomed to such consideration, for her parents’ treatment of her had taught her to avoid depending upon others.

Therefore, it had been particularly difficult for her to ask Aunt Augusta for help, only to be accused her of ingratitude for Cecil’s benevolence. After such criticism, Miranda had nearly not approached Laura with the same request. But then Laura had been so concerned, and Gerard had surprised her with his persistence in helping her.

Would they succeed in convincing his mother? And yet, she was afraid to hope.

She took a deep breath, letting the quiet of the forest soothe her. The trees had the feel of age and patience, perseverance through storms and overzealous woodchoppers. She imagined she could hear the trees whispering to each other even now, rustling in arboreal gossip over the excited chatter of women and children gathering greenery.

How the paths of her life had shifted only a scant hour or two ago. Everything seemed too wonderful to possibly be more than a dream that would melt away—staying with Ellie and the Foremonts, and then with Cousin Laura. Escaping the Beattys. No longer needing to withstand Felicity’s impatience and determination to put Miranda in her proper place as a humble, grateful dependent.

Would her circumstances truly be different after Twelfth Night? It was hard to imagine how they would be, because she had felt for a long time that she was slowly disappearing, like a ghost fading away into mist. She didn’t know if she could be happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been.

“Randa.” Ellie broke into her thoughts. She had been following Miranda and holding the fir boughs that she cut.

“Yes, darling?”

“Paul said he will get the biggest branch.”

“Oh, did he? We shall see if we can best him.”

Ellie grinned, and it was Miranda’s cousin Edward who smiled at her in the shape of her mouth, the crinkling of her eyes. But she had her mother’s blue eyes and golden-brown hair, fine as cornsilk.

Miranda had done this every Christmas Eve with her Belmoore relatives—the women and children picking mistletoe, ivy, and fir boughs while the men and farmhands went out to collect the massive Yule log, which would burn in the oversized medieval fireplace in the great entry hall until the end of Twelfth Night.

Gerard came up beside her, but spoke to Ellie, whose arms were so full of fir boughs that they trailed down behind her. “Take care, Ellie, or you will trip over your green dress.”

She looked at the dripping fir, then giggled and twirled in a circle, making the branches fly out around her, and a few flung off through the undergrowth.

“You’ll lose everything we’ve collected,” Miranda said with a smile.

“I’ll go get them. Come, Ellie.” Gerard went off the path, making a dramatic effort as he swung his cane at the scraggly bushes, pretending to get lost as he searched for the missing firs.

The last time Miranda had gathered greenery with Gerard had been sixteen years ago, the Christmas before he went to sea. He would have been with the men and the Yule log if his knee had allowed him to keep up, or allowed him to ride a horse without pain. He joked with Ellie and with the other children, but every so often, the distant sound of a man’s voice in the woods made him look up, and a harshness would settle over his face like a mask.

Or perhaps his cheerfulness was the mask.

She admitted that some of the fear—no, probably most of the fear she felt was how, if she went to the Foremonts’ home, she would be so close to Gerard for the first time in years. Yes, fear that she wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings from him, or even worse, from his parents.

She was used to hiding. She’d had to hide who she was, it seemed, all her life—from her own parents, from most of her family. People seemed to constantly remind her that she could never be quite the same as the rest of society. That she was different.

Her father had been disappointed that she wasn’t charming, that she was too quiet and uninteresting. Her mother had been upset that she’d been hopeless at catching a husband during her season. Felicity disliked her so much that she was eager to foist her off rather than keeping an unpaid servant.

And aside from all that, there was the one secret no one could know, the one sin she could never rub out.

She had no wish to open herself to anyone, and certainly not handsome, confident Gerard. He would find her lacking, as so many other people in her life had done, and if she loved him, his disappointment or rejection would flay her alive.

So she had to somehow crush her feelings for him. Burn them out of her heart.

Not all the trees had lost their leaves, and combined with the fitful winter sun, the dimness made it seem even colder. Gerard and Ellie had wandered away from Miranda, and she determined to keep herself apart from him. Ellie needed to become used to Gerard, who was a stranger to her.

Miranda tramped through the undergrowth, distancing herself from the other women and children, deeper into the silence and darkness of the forest. Even their voices became muffled by the tree trunks and low-hanging branches.

Behind her, leaves rustled, then a stick snapped. And then something heavy collided with the base of her neck.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 5b

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nook (coming soon)

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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 4b

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 4b

A chill raced up Laura’s spine, and it was not from the winter wind. But perhaps she was mistaken. “I did not know you were close to Felicity’s cousin,” she said lightly. “How long will you be visiting?”

There was an awkward pause. “I will not be visiting. After Twelfth Night, Felicity is sending me to help as their nursery-maid.”

Laura stopped walking and grasped Miranda’s elbow. “She cannot hire her own nursery-maid? Or beg the help of one of her relations?”

Miranda would not look at Laura. “She has difficulty retaining her staff.”

Laura knew why, although she was not certain if Miranda did, also. Laura had no wish to frighten her, but she could not allow her to walk into that house with warning. “You cannot go,” Laura croaked.

Miranda’s cheeks had become as grey as the sky. She hesitated, then whispered, “Are the rumors true?”

“Oh, my dear girl. I must tell Felicity—”

“She did not believe me.”

Of course Felicity would not, that wretched, selfish woman.

Laura had never known Miranda well because her father had not been one of Laura’s favourite cousins. Charles Belmoore had been a scowl on two legs, and his wife had had the perpetual expression of someone smelling fish gone bad.

But she could not allow Felicity to do this to Miranda. Laura had been forced to endure her horrific marriage to her late husband, but it had given her the means and independence to do what was right.

“If only I could take you home with me,” Laura said. “But I am promised to my aunt in Northumbria after Twelfth Night, and my townhouse in London is being renovated while I am away. Perhaps I may write to my aunt …”

“Lady Wynwood, Miranda,” said a strong male voice, “good morning to you both.”

Laura would normally welcome Gerard’s company, had Miranda’s plight not been so troubling. Because of Mr. Foremont’s close friendship with Laura’s cousin Edward, she had known Gerard since he was in leading strings. She was surprised to see the grave lines in his forehead as he looked at Miranda.

However, he turned to her with a smile. “It is good to see you, my lady. I had not time for more than a quick hello last evening.”

“You are looking remarkably well.” He was, for although he walked slowly and carefully with his cane on the wet, brittle grass, it was a marked improvement from only a month ago when she had seen him briefly in London. He had been in town with his parents to visit his doctor, and he had been using crutches rather than a cane.

“Thank you.” He glanced away briefly, and she thought she saw the same bitter frustration behind his eyes that she’d seen a month ago.

Perhaps he was not as improved as she had thought.

“My father and I have spoken to Cecil and Mr. Belmoore,” Gerard said. “It is decided that Ellie is to come home with us.”

“That’s wonderful,” Laura said.

“I must thank you again for your suggestion to my mother. The anticipation of having Ellie in her care has made her quite cheerful.” His eyes slid to Miranda, then he said to Laura, “I wish to beg another favour from you, my lady. Would you perhaps exert your influence over my mother to allow Miranda to accompany Ellie to Foremont Court for a few months?”

Laura gasped. “That is a very good idea.”

He blinked. “It is? Er … that is, just so.”

Miranda was looking at him with surprise. “Gerard, your mother …”

“We have nearly a fortnight to convince her,” he said, more to Miranda than to Laura. “I am certain that with Lady Wynwood’s help, we may do so.”

“Of course I will help you,” Laura said. She could think of no better way to prevent Miranda from being sent to the Beattys.

Color had returned to Miranda’s cheeks. “Would you, Cousin Laura?”

“My dear.” Laura stopped to take Miranda’s hands in hers. “Of course I will. And it will only be for a few weeks, perhaps a few months. After I help my aunt organize the repair of her cottage, I insist that you come to stay with me in my townhouse in London.”

“Do you need a companion?”

“Not particularly,” Laura said cheerfully, “and I suspect you would be a poor one. You do not scurry nervously. And I have seen your embroidery—it is atrocious, so you would not be able to untangle your employer’s silks.”

A smile tugged at Miranda’s lips.

“If you will be able to stay with the Foremonts until I come to retrieve you, then you will join me in London as my guest. You may stay as long as you like, or I can find a position for you if you desire it. I only regret I cannot have you with me immediately, but my aunt’s cottage has only one useable bedroom. In fact, I shall be sleeping on the sofa for part of the time, and there is no inn within a comfortable distance.”

Miranda squeezed Laura’s hands tightly, but the girl said nothing, her eyes large and luminous.

“You quite exhaust me with your exuberance,” Laura said.

“I am confident we shall prevail, Miranda,” Gerard said. “You will be happy at Foremont Court before long.”

It was just a flicker of a glance that Miranda sent to Gerard before she looked away, but the certainty struck Laura like a blow. Miranda was in love with Gerard. It might be a girlhood infatuation, but the feelings were there, waiting to mature into true, deep affection.

Laura was no matchmaker, but a part of her wished for happiness for Miranda and Gerard, each of whom was lonely in their own way. She must convince Mary Foremont to allow Miranda to travel back to their home with them and with Ellie, but would she only be encouraging a situation that would result in heartbreak for Miranda?

Or would two hearts somehow find each other across the gulf of Miranda’s protective shell and Gerard’s bitterness?

***
Next blog post: Chapter 5a

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nook (coming soon)

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 4a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 4a

December 24th

The morning had dawned crisp and cold, but clear enough for the annual Christmas greens collecting. Laura, Lady Wynwood, finished tying the scarf about Sally’s neck. The little girl had grown so much since Laura had seen her last Christmas here at Wintrell Hall. “There, now you are ready to gather mistletoe.”

“William says mistletoe is for grown-ups.”

“And who is William?”

“He is the rector’s son. Back at home in Sussex.”

Laura smiled and smoothed the brown curls peeking out from beneath the girl’s hood. “Mistletoe is for the kissing bough, so I suppose he’s right, after a fashion.”

Sally made a face. “Why do grown-ups like kissing so much? William said that sometimes when grown-ups kiss, they make babies.”

Laura choked back a laugh. “No, they most certainly do not make babies simply from kissing. But grown-ups do enjoy it.”

Sally gave her a suspicious look. “Do you enjoy kissing?”

“I enjoy kissing you.” Laura grabbed her in a hug and rained kisses upon her round cheeks.

Sally squealed and giggled. “Now you must kiss Paul,” she told Laura.

Sally’s cousin, who had been pulling on his mittens nearby, scowled and backed up a few steps. “I’m too old for kissing. Kissing is for babies.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“You’re the baby cousin. There isn’t anyone younger than you.”

Sally turned to Laura. “Cousin Laura, you should have babies so that I will no longer be the youngest.”

It surprised Laura that the innocent remark caused such a sharp pang in her heart, even after all these years. She imagined she could feel an answering pain in her stomach. She gave Sally a bright smile. “Babies require a papa, and I have no husband.”

“You should marry Mr. Drydale.”

“No, Mr. Drydale and I are friends. Like you and William, the rector’s son. Now off with you.” She gave Sally a little push out the front door as the other cousins also filed outside.

No, Sol deserved better than someone like her. She was not being self-pitying, but practical. He needed a woman who could bear him an heir, and she would not put herself under the control of a man. Never again.

Laura secured her own hood and followed the troupe of children. They all headed across the lawn in front of the house toward the edge of the forest. A pale winter sun squinted through the hazy clouds, turning the grass a sage-green color. Her breath blew around her head, and when she inhaled, she smelled woodsmoke.

She was watching Paul chase Sally in circles around the lawn when she became aware of someone who had come to walk beside her. “Good morning, Miranda.”

“Good morning, Cousin Laura.”

“Where is Ellie?” It had been obvious that Ellie clung to Miranda like a barnacle on a ship, and no wonder—the child had lost her mother less than a year ago, and then been thrust into Cecil’s cold household. And Miranda was the sort of person you could cling to, who wouldn’t mind you doing it.

“Ellie is there.” Miranda pointed to a small figure walking with Augusta’s youngest daughter, who was fifteen. “Liliana has promised to make snow angels with her if they find a patch of snow.”

“Snow? Not yet, I fear.”

“Ellie is still hopeful.” Miranda smiled, and it transformed her face from plain to pixie-like. But the smile was fleeting, and as it faded, lines appeared on the sides of her mouth. “Cousin Laura, I have a favour to ask. But I should like it if you did not tell Cecil about it.”

Laura raised her eyebrows. “Cecil?”

Miranda’s cheeks turned rosy, but Laura did not believe it was from the biting winter wind. “I have already spoken briefly with Aunt Augusta, and she was quite distressed at my request. I should not wish to upset Cecil.”

“Of course. I will not speak to him about our private conversation.”

“Thank you.” Miranda’s exhaled breath hung like a cloud about her head. “Cousin Laura, you have a great many friends and relations. Do you know of any ladies who might need a paid companion?”

Laura was not surprised by the question. While she knew very little about Miranda’s situation, she had noticed that Felicity treated Miranda with less respect than her relationship as Cecil’s cousin deserved. However, it was not uncommon for poor relations to be treated like servants—she had seen it in other households, with women even more arrogant than Felicity Belmoore.

And yet Miranda’s face never betrayed any discomfort. She had always kept her feelings to herself.

“Of course. I shall write to my friends directly,” Laura said.

“Thank you. If you do hear of a position, please write to me at the home of Felicity’s cousin, Polly Beatty, outside of Weymouth.”

A chill raced up Laura’s spine, and it was not from the winter wind. But perhaps she was mistaken. “I did not know you were close to Felicity’s cousin,” she said lightly. “How long will you be visiting?”

***
Next blog post: Chapter 4b

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nook (coming soon)

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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 3c

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 3c

He thumped his way down the hallway. His bedroom was smaller than the bedrooms in the other wings, but it was close to the drawing room, just past the library and the ballroom. The carpet runner narrowed here, and he stumbled when the tip of his cane slid a few inches because it had touched down on the polished wooden floor rather than the rug.

He and his father were sharing a valet during the visit so that Cecil would not need to house an extra servant in his bursting household, but Gerard did not bother to call Maddox to assist him. His evening wear hung loosely on his frame since his returned home, and he had become used to dressing himself while on board ship. He easily shrugged out of his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, although the clean shirt he pulled on was not quite as creaseless as Maddox would have wanted. Gerard pulled out the first waistcoat he saw, which was striped in grey and blue and perhaps more suited to morning wear, but the cravat he tied was unexceptionable, if not overly elaborate.

He made his way out of his room, but he could faintly hear a woman’s voice, shrill with displeasure. At first it sounded like Miss Church-Pratton, but then he realized it was Felicity. A low man’s voice answered her—Cecil. The voices came from the library door, open a crack, and it was obvious they were arguing.

“Things take her twice as long as anyone else,” Felicity said. “Or she does something completely ridiculous. Last week, the governess was ill so she was supposed to take over Ellie’s instruction. Instead, she took her skating on the pond. She said it was to teach her mathematics!”

He couldn’t be certain, but he thought they might be speaking of Miranda. She had always had an unconventional way of thinking of the world, which had made her a delightful playmate when they were children. She was also the type of person who was patient no matter what the task.

The library was far enough from the drawing room that no one there would hear them, but Gerard’s room was closer. He began thumping along as quickly as possible, hoping neither of the angry couple would suddenly storm out of the library and see him skulking like a thief. The distance to the drawing room seemed like a mile.

“She’s impossible,” Felicity hissed. “She does it on purpose to upset me.”

“I hardly think she does it on purpose,” Cecil said. “She’s always been like that, a bit touched in the head.”

“Well then, I don’t want a madwoman in my home. I shall be heartily glad when she goes to my cousin Polly’s house.”

Gerard moved to the far side of the hallway as he passed the library door. Calling Miranda a madwoman was a bit much, even for Felicity’s spiteful nature. Miranda had always been unique, uncaring of what others thought of her, comfortable in who she was and unapologetic about it. But perhaps in Felicity’s mind, the fact that Miranda wouldn’t scurry to obey her every command would seem like the actions of a madwoman.

Suddenly his cane again landed on the wooden floor, a good foot of which lay between the edge of the carpet runner and the wall. This time, the tip slid quickly. His knee twisted at the sudden loss of support. A sharp pain sliced up his leg. He didn’t feel the impact as he hit the floor, just saw the carpet runner rise up to meet him. As he lay there, he panted heavily and screwed his eyes shut, focusing on pushing past the pain in his knee so he wouldn’t faint. He could smell dust, mold, and the faintest hint of lemon polish.

He didn’t realize he had blocked out all sound until Cecil’s voice broke into the haze of pain.

“As to that, Mr. Foremont wanted her to go with Ellie, to help out for a few months.”

Gerard had to get out of this hallway. He couldn’t bear it if someone came along and saw him on the floor, or worse, if Cecil and Felicity left the library and realized he had fallen nearly across the threshold. He pushed at the floor, rising on his good knee. His entire leg was shaking.

“Absolutely not,” Felicity said. “Polly didn’t come this year because her youngest broke his leg and they lost yet another nursery-maid. She needs Miranda.”

“What your cousin needs is to learn how to keep her maids from quitting her service.”

“It is the best solution for us to loan Miranda to Polly. Miranda cannot quit service.”

Gerard got to his feet and leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath. His heart pounded as if he’d run up ten flights of stairs. He continued toward the drawing room at a slower pace, his knee aching with each step.

But even more than the pain in his leg, he felt the burning of injustice and frustration in his gut. Miranda was little better than a slave in this household. He could not bear to see her so abused.

His only goal had been to become well in body, but oughtn’t he to exercise his conscience, as well? How could he stand to allow Cecil and Felicity to treat her so? Surely he could do more to convince his mother to change her mind.

There had been so many men, so many friends he had not been able to save during the war. Now that he was ashore, at the very least he could save one childhood friend.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 4a

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

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Nook (coming soon)

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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 3b

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 3b

They all returned to the drawing room. One of the cousins was pounding away at the pianoforte while some of the furniture at the far end of the room had been rearranged to clear space for a few couples to dance.

Gerard sank into a chair near his mother, while his father sat beside her on the sofa.

“All went as expected, my dear,” his father said to her. “Ellie shall come home with us when we leave.”

His mother gasped with delight and clasped her husband’s hands in her own. “How wonderful it will be to have Ellie with us. The house has been so gloomy lately.”

Gerard looked away, but found he was staring down at his injured leg. At the very least, Ellie would distract his mother from the task of nursing him, which she had come to resent more in the past few weeks.

“The village seamstress is not as skilled as Madame Fanchon in London, but Ellie must have a new wardrobe,” his mother said. “And perhaps we might refurbish the nursery. Yes, a trip to Bath would be of utmost importance. Frilled curtains at the windows, a new table and set of chairs, a new canopy for her bed. Oh, there is so much to do.” She looked elated at the prospect.

“Mother, I wondered if we might bring Miranda with us, as well, to help with Ellie,” Gerard said.

Some of the annoyance crept back into her face. “Whyever would we do that?”

“Ellie has become very attached to Miranda, and she could serve as Ellie’s nursery-maid.”

“Ellie will soon become attached to me,” his mother said. “And we could hire a nursery-maid from the village.”

He should not have mentioned Ellie’s attachment, for it was making his mother defensive and possessive. “It is only for a few weeks, or a few months at most.”

“All the more reason for her not to stay with us,” she said. “Ellie will only miss Miranda the more when she leaves.”

“My dear, we only are thinking of your own comfort,” his father said.

“You needn’t be concerned about me,” his mother replied. “And I must say, John, that I am rather surprised that you would agree with Gerard in this. A penniless young woman, not related by blood, under our roof? It would be most improper.”

Heat crawled up Gerard’s neck and jaw. “I am in no danger from Miranda. We know each other too well.”

“You are not alleviating my concern,” she said.

“I don’t think Miranda has a heart to be captured by any man,” Gerard said. “She is still as quiet and self-controlled as ever she was as a child.”

“Your mother is correct, Gerard,” his father said. “A young woman under our roof …”

“If you are ill at ease, I will move to Foremont Lacy.” He had not seen his property, inherited from his grandmother, since he had come ashore. “I will soon be well enough that I can do with only a manservant.”

“But that is only …” His mother checked herself. “I am still unconvinced that it is necessary to bring Miranda with us.”

Gerard had not considered his marital prospects since becoming injured, but he now realized that nothing had prevented his mother from thinking of such things, especially now that he was living in his father’s house. And apparently, in his mother’s opinion, his residence at the neighboring farm of Foremont Lacy would still be too uncomfortably close to Foremont Court, should Miranda take up residence there.

His father’s look convinced Gerard to abandon the subject. “I would not distress you, madam.”

“Yes, your convalescence has been quite distressing enough,” she said peevishly.

He was rescued by the appearance of their evening tea, which also included an ornate silver punch bowl of wassail. However, on his way to get a cup of the Christmas drink, he was waylaid by Miss Church-Pratton, one of Felicity’s cousins.

“Now why were you men sequestered together for so long?” She gave a trilling laugh. “I had begun to fear you had abandoned us.”

“Business, I fear,” Gerard said politely.

“Oh, you mustn’t work during Christmastide.” She smiled, and dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Is not the company amusing enough?”

“Indeed.” She had been seated next to him at the dinner table, and while she spent a few scant minutes talking to her partner on her other side, she spent the rest of the time talking to him. About herself.

Even aside from that, Gerard was mistrustful of her smiles. He’d heard from Lady Wynwood, who obviously disliked Miss Church-Pratton, that she had broken her engagement earlier this year to an officer who had been wounded at Corunna. However, the season in London had not resulted in a second engagement, and Gerard could see that her charm had an edge of bitterness and desperation.

He had no intention of being her next matrimonial target. With his injury, he was in no condition to even consider a more distant future with any woman. He must concentrate on the most immediate needs, namely being able to discard his cane and to relieve the burden upon his parents.

It was a cowardly thing to do, but he simply grasped at the first idea that came to mind. He took a small glass of wassail from the maid serving the punch at a side table and then wobbled on his cane, spilling the drink on his waistcoat. The scent of wine, nutmeg, and apples grew stronger, and he felt the warmth as the hot beverage soaked through his shirt.

“Oh, dear!” Miss Church-Pratton fished out her handkerchief, a thin lawn square the size of a playing card, and swabbed at his chest.

Her hand seemed to be touching a larger area of his chest than the spill, and he hastily stepped away from her suspicious ministrations. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Church-Pratton. I must change my waistcoat before it stains.” He turned and left.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 3c

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nook (coming soon)

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 3a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 3a

For the better part of the last ten minutes, Gerard had been staring up Cecil’s hairy nostril. It was most unpleasant, but Cecil had kept his nose upturned during their entire discussion here in the library, which had taken place directly after dinner. Gerard wondered that Cecil didn’t get a crick in his neck from looking down at all the world. Or perhaps Cecil simply had extraordinarily large nostrils.

“I assure you it is no hardship for Eleanor to continue her stay here,” Sir Cecil said, playing with a pretentiously large silver paperweight upon his desk. “She is firmly fixed in our home. Indeed, the entire neighborhood is aware of it and approves.”

Ah, now Gerard understood. Cecil would never admit it, but he did not want it known that he had “cast out“ a little girl dependent upon him, especially because he obviously had the means to continue to keep her. It might reflect poorly upon his reputation, which was not otherwise known for its generosity.

“Surely you would not object to such a small sacrifice on your part for my mother’s health and happiness?” Gerard asked.

Cecil blinked rapidly, unable to think of a suitable response.

Gerard’s father turned to Mr. Belmoore, Ellie’s grandfather, who sat in an overstuffed chair. “Mary has always loved children, and they love her. She has always wanted a girl.”

“In addition to her most excellent son,” Gerard added with a grin. Mr. Belmoore returned it, but Cecil sniffed.

“We have the added advantage of more children Ellie’s age in our neighborhood than there are around Wintrell Hall,” Gerard’s father said.

Seeing Cecil’s brows draw low, Gerard added, “I assure you they are all of good family.”

Cecil said nothing, obviously thinking better of calling the statement into question because it would be insulting to Gerard’s father.

“Cecil, you recall I expressed some concern on that head a few months ago,” Mr. Belmoore said to his nephew. “John is perfectly right. Ellie would have more playmates if she were to go with him. She has been lonely and of low spirits since her mother died.” Mr. Belmoore reached over to clap Gerard on the shoulder. “My only real concern, dear boy, is your health.”

“I’m strong as an ox. Don’t let the cane fool you. Come, I’ll wrestle you, and you’ll see.”

Mr. Belmoore laughed. “I don’t doubt your enthusiasm, but I simply wish to be assured that you are recovered enough to have a lively young girl underfoot.”

“I have improved considerably, or I would not have put forward this scheme.”

“Are you … completely recovered?” Mr. Belmoore asked.

Gerard knew what he was asking. “The doctor tells me that I shall walk with this cane for many months yet, perhaps years. But a full recovery is entirely within my grasp.”

“Years?” Cecil said. “And what manner of accidents may befall a child? That cane is downright dangerous.”

“I hardly intend to bat at her like a cricket pitch,” Gerard protested.

“No one is accusing you of anything of the sort,” Mr. Belmoore said, “but Gerard, I speak from experience when I say that a young girl Ellie’s age can be dangerously unpredictable, especially for a man with difficulties getting about.” He took his walking stick from where it leaned against his chair and tapped his left foot. “My gout has its good and bad days, but after Edmund died in action and Beth and Ellie came to stay with me, I had any number of accidents. Ellie likes to run, and will often run into things like legs, even when she does not intend to do so.”

Yes, Gerard had seen Ellie running about earlier this evening before their dinner in the nursery, darting here and there. She and the other children had not sat down to behave themselves until Miranda had arrived in the room half an hour later, restoring order.

But he disliked the caution in Mr. Belmoore’s tone. Gerard was a sailor who had fought, and he’d had enough of being treated like a porcelain figurine or a gouty old man. “I assure you, sir, I will have no difficulties with Ellie. I quite look forward to playing with her.” The memory of the nursery also reminded him of his promise to Miranda, and he turned to his father. “Sir, I have not had opportunity to speak to you of this, but I thought we might take Miranda with us, if only for a few months, to assist Mother with Ellie.”

His father looked thoughtful. “That may be a good plan, although you will need to persuade your mother. And obtain Cecil’s permission, naturally.” He inclined his head toward Cecil.

Cecil frowned. “It matters not to me what happens to Miranda.”

His tone made Gerard’s teeth grind together.

Cecil continued, “However, Felicity had hoped to send the girl to her cousin’s home after Twelfth Night. They have lost yet another nursery-maid.”

Gerard had expected Cecil to object to losing his unpaid servant, but this unexpected need of his wife’s close relation would perhaps take precedence over Gerard’s family.

“Cecil, you must order your household as you think best,” Mr. Belmoore said. “As for Ellie, I have decided she will go to the Foremonts at the end of the Christmas celebrations.”

“Thank you, sir.” As Gerard shook Mr. Belmoore’s hand, he determined to spend every moment that he could playing with Ellie within sight of her grandfather, to show him that his injury was not affected in the slightest by having a child about. Regardless, he would need Ellie to become accustomed to him. She had been shy when he’d introduced himself in the nursery earlier.

He desperately hoped that having Ellie’s company would improve his mother’s temperament, which was wearing on both himself and his father. He had brought such difficulties to them because of his injury, and he only wanted to make his mother happy again.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 3b

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

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Nook (coming soon)

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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 2b

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 2b

“The children are eating dinner at the moment,” she said. “Perhaps if you visited them later tonight?”

“When have I ever stood on ceremony with the brats? I’ll pop in to say hello, wrestle a few of them to the ground, and make them cast up their accounts.” He grinned. “I shall see you at dinner, then.”

She considered giving a noncommittal answer because she knew the unvarnished truth would upset him again, but he would know the truth eventually. “I will not be downstairs. I am having dinner in the nursery.”

He had been about to head toward the nursery but he stopped. His cane halted in midair for a split second before it snapped down on the floor again. “Why would you do that?”

She bit her tongue so that she would not say the first thing that came to mind, namely, Felicity is exercising her ability to count heads at table.

However, the expression on her face must have given her away, because he said incredulously, “Felicity has barred you from the dining room?”

“Nothing quite so barbaric. You know how fanatically she values order and appearances. She does not wish an odd number of guests at table tonight.”

Gerard’s face grew thunderous. “That is outside of enough.”

“Gerard, I shall not be missed in the least.” While she knew it was true, saying it out loud seemed to hammer it into her chest with a hollow blow. No one would notice her absence, and indeed, some members of the party would even welcome it.

Her words seemed to have shocked him. Finally he sputtered, “Of course you will be missed. We all grew up together. It would not be the same without you there.” He checked himself, then added, “You and everyone else, of course.”

The spark of warmth that had involuntarily risen at his words was doused by the splash of reality. Gerard had never looked at her as other than a friend, and surely by now, after years apart, she had outgrown her childish infatuation with him. She gave him a rueful smile to hide her feelings. “Gerard, when have you known me to speak more than a dozen words at table? No one will pine for my brilliant conversational bon mots.”

A flicker of a smile on his face. “I want it all to be as it was the year before I went to sea. I have looked forward to Christmas in England these many years past.”

There was an echo of longing in his voice, and she could imagine what his Christmases had been like on his ship, far from home and family.

“I shall speak to Felicity,” he said.

“Pray do not,” she said fervently.

“She is treating you like a servant.”

“Because we have never gotten along and she is resentful that Cecil was forced to take me in. If you insist I sit at dinner, she will do something else.”

“It is not right, Miranda.”

“There is nothing you can …” An idea suddenly formed in her mind, vague like the sun straining to shine through mist over the fields, but slowly gaining strength. And hope.

“Miranda?” he asked.

“Do you wish to help me?”

“Of course. Name it.”

“Will you speak to your mother on my behalf? Will you ask if she will consent to allow me to travel to Foremont Court with Ellie after Twelfth Night?”

He sighed. “You saw my mother’s temper in the carriage,” he said in a low voice. “She is not best pleased with me. I fear I could not sway her.”

“Please, would you try? Ellie is very attached to me. You would have no need to hire a nursery-maid.”

His dark brows drew low over his eyes. “Miranda, I will not have you treated like a poor relation at our home, as well.”

“Gerard, my situation is intolerable.” She could not bring herself to speak such disgraceful gossip about Mr. Beatty to a young man—and certainly not Gerard—but she was desperate. Even admitting her desperation to him was difficult for her, who had always had to take care of herself.

A step on the stair made them both turn to see one of the under-maids, Jean, appear at the top of the stairs. She gave Miranda and Gerard a saucy, appraising look. Jean always seemed reluctant to serve Miranda or Miss Teel, the governess, and Miranda had the impression that Jean resented their place in the household, neither fish nor fowl, as it were—neither genteel nor of the servant class.

“What is it?” Miranda said, a bit shortly.

“Lady Belmoore requires you to fetch her rose-embroidered petticoat from her room and repair it before tomorrow.”

That was a task for Felicity’s abigail. “What about Hobson?” Miranda asked.

“She has to alter some fancy gown for milady at the last minute and is too busy.”

“Very well.” Miranda nodded to Jean, but the girl lingered at the top of the stairs, regarding Gerard with obvious interest.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you, that will be all.”

Jean’s mouth pinched, but she turned to walk back down the stairs.

“I am shocked at the forwardness of Felicity’s staff,” Gerard said.

“It is only Jean, I assure you. Felicity runs a tight ship.”

He laughed. “Just so.” He hesitated, then said, “I will speak to my mother, Miranda. But I do not wish to falsely raise your hopes.”

She realized that in those short moments, she had begun to rely upon Gerard. No, that would never do. She had long ago learned that it was futile to rely on anyone else besides herself.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand. Neither of them wore gloves, and she felt the callouses of his fingers, the warmth of his palm. Somehow, his touch made her feel more substantial than she usually did in this household. He knew her, he saw her, where everyone else tried to forget her. She realized she had been growing accustomed to the feeling of having lost her identity.

“I meant what I said,” Gerard said. “I am happy to see you. For me, you are part of the Christmas season.”

She smiled and turned to go downstairs to Felicity’s room while he continued toward the nursery. But his words had caused a twinge in her chest, like a harp string too harshly plucked.

His anger on her behalf had made her feel less alone, and his kindness was a balm to her spirit after two years under Felicity’s thumb. But in truth, Gerard and his family would leave after Twelfth Night, and Miranda would be sent to Felicity’s cousin’s home.

She could only rely on herself to save herself.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 3a

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nook (coming soon)

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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 2a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 2a

“Miranda.” Felicity’s sharp, displeased voice echoed harshly from the wainscoting along the walls of the nursery wing’s corridor.

Miranda stopped on her way to her room and turned. Felicity stood at the head of the stairs. Waiting for her to come to her.

She headed back down the hallway. “What is it, Felicity?”

Felicity gave an impatient huff and strode to meet Miranda halfway. “For goodness’ sake, you walk as slowly as a slug.”

Miranda’s mother had complained of that, as well, but she and others among the Belmoores had equated Miranda’s slowness of foot with slowness of mind, also. Probably because in moments like these, Miranda simply said nothing. It made others uncomfortable, which was why Miranda did it.

Felicity waited, and when the silence stretched on, she blinked several times before saying, “I only needed to tell you that we won't be needing your presence at dinner tonight. We are already even at table, because there are a few guests who will be arriving tomorrow.”

Miranda kept her eyes lowered as her hands fisted in the fabric of her skirts. “Of course,” she said evenly.

“But do come to me in the drawing room after dinner. I might need you. And what do you mean by accepting a ride in Mr. Foremont’s carriage? I was ever so embarrassed that they’d seen you in that shabby gown.”

“I had thought you would want the ribbons I fetched for you a half hour sooner.”

Felicity’s lips pursed. They barely cracked open as she said, “Very well. But do try to spare a thought for my feelings. The less you are noticed, the better.”

Miranda felt as if she had been plunged into the lake. Her hands began to shake, making the fabric of her gown tremble.

“It will be better for all of us when you go to my cousin Polly’s household after Twelfth Night,” Felicity added.

“Felicity, I beg you to reconsider sending me,” Miranda said. Her hands now trembled with a darker emotion than mortification. “One of the maids has told me that there are … rumors about Mr. Beatty. The people who live near the Beattys spoke of maids who ran away from their posts.”

“Polly has always had difficulty retaining her nursery staff,” Felicity said impatiently. “It is reason I am sending you.”

“But the maid said there were some indelicate stories. Two of the maids were thought to be pregnant, and a third killed herself.”

“Miranda!” Felicity’s cheeks flamed with color. “Listening to spurious gossip—nay, repeating it!”

As an unmarried young woman, it was highly improper of Miranda to say these things, but she had to try to make Felicity see the truth and change her mind. “Villagers nearby will not allow their daughters to work at the Beatty home, no matter what the wages are. Felicity, do you not understand?”

“I understand that you are being disobliging,” Felicity snapped. “After we have taken you into our home, for you to go and serve my cousin is the least you could do.”

Miranda would be an unpaid servant in a household with a man rumored to have a penchant for forcing the maids. “Please, Felicity,” she said.

“I will hear no more of such horrid lies about my cousin’s husband,” Felicity said. “Cecil would be shocked if I were to tell him what you have said to me, you ungrateful wretch of a girl.” In an angry whirlwind of skirts, Felicity left Miranda standing alone in the nursery wing corridor.

Was she ungrateful? Were the rumors untrue? And yet her cousin’s wife should be more concerned about the possible danger to her relation, even if she was not connected by blood.

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, all her limbs fluttering like leaves in a stiff winter wind. Life here with Felicity was difficult, but she simply could not go to the Beattys. She must find a way to save herself.

She shivered violently. She had been in the stillroom, which was pleasantly warm from the heat of the kitchen next to it. However, this wing of the house had terrible drafts, and so she went to her room to collect a shawl. She exerted herself to calm her jumbled emotions.

As she exited the room, she nearly collided with a large male figure. She had been too preoccupied even to hear his footsteps.

There was a clatter of wood upon the floor, and then warm hands clasped her shoulders. She caught a whiff of sea rushes and mint and knew without looking that it was Gerard. He had not touched her like this since they’d played together as children, and she remained perfectly still, not wanting him to release her.

“Miranda, what are you doing?” He peered at the governess’s room behind her. “Why were you in there?”

“It is where I am sleeping for the holidays, since we are full to the rafters with guests.”

“In the nursery-maid’s room?”

“No, I am sharing the governess’s room. We have no nursery-maid.”

He frowned at her as his hands dropped from her shoulders. “Surely Cecil can afford one?”

“He has no need of one while I am here.”

His face grew dark. “He ought not to treat you this way. You are his cousin.”

“I am a poor relation now, Gerard. That is how poor relations are treated.”

“Not all poor relations are treated this way.”

“Did you expect an outpouring of love from Cecil or Felicity?”

His eyes, the color of cinnamon, narrowed as they surveyed her. “Who is in your bedroom, then?”

“The nursery-maids that Aunt Augusta and Aunt Anne brought with them.”

His brows furrowed. “Maids? In your bedroom?”

It took her a moment to understand his outrage, and she quickly said, “My bedroom is not in the family wing of the house. It is there.” She pointed to the door opposite.

But it seemed to make him even more shocked and angered on her behalf. “Do you mean to say that you sleep in the nursery-maid’s room?”

“It’s closer to Ellie’s bedroom, and to the younger boys when they are home on holiday from school. I don’t mind.”

“Miranda …”

“Ellie needs me sometimes in the middle of the night. She still misses her mama—it’s been barely a year since Beth died. And I can give her the kind of attention that no stranger would give to her.” She added, “I don’t want you to become upset on my account.”

To forestall his reply, she bent to pick up his cane. He’d dropped it when he’d grabbed her to prevent her from running into him. “Here you are. Soon you will no longer need it.”

He held her gaze, and she couldn’t look away. He was aware of her attempts to change the subject, but he acquiesced. “I suppose I should be grateful I can stand without aid now, but it is still frustrating to need this.” He set the foot of the cane on the wooden floor with a sharp snap.

He would never know the agonies she had suffered, praying fervently for him each night when she had first heard about the severity of his injuries from a letter his father had sent to her uncle Edward.

“Are you here to see Ellie?” she asked.

“Yes. I can hear the noise from the nursery all the way down the staircase.”

“All the children are excited to be with their cousins again.”

“I recall we were that way, at their age.”

She had lived for the times when he had joined their large family gatherings. His father’s close friendship with her uncle Edward had enabled him nearly to grow up with her and her cousins, at least until he went to sea. He had never known how much she cared for him, how she had pined for him with girlish tears. She was a girl no longer, but she still felt remnants of that wistful longing for him, that little gasp of excitement in her chest when he looked at her.

Gerard would never know. He must never know.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 2b

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 1c

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 1c

At this point, the coach turned onto the stretch of drive that led up to the front of Wintrell Hall. The trees lining the drive were bare, but snow had not yet fallen, and the lawn in front of the house was a pale ash-green color. In contrast, on the east side of the house, the bushes peeking over the top of the stone garden wall were a startling orange-brown, waving in the wind that swept down the valley and swirled around the house.

They weren’t the first to arrive, for as they passed the red brick stables, a coachman was directing the grooms and stablehands in maneuvering a massive travelling coach inside the building.

They pulled up in front of the north entrance, and the butler and a footman promptly came out to meet them. In the winter sunlight, the red brick of the house was a warm russet color, which belied the blast of cold wind that rushed into the coach when the servant opened the door. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Foremont, Captain Foremont,” said the butler. His grey eyebrows rose slightly at the sight of Miranda in the coach, but that was the extent of how he showed his surprise.

“Thank you, Lewis,” Mrs. Foremont said as the butler helped her alight. “Have Cecil’s sisters arrived with their families?”

“Yes, ma’am. And their husbands’ families, as well.”

Gerard’s mother gave a happy sigh. “The nursery must be full to bursting.”

“And eagerly awaiting your arrival, if I may say so, ma’am,” Lewis unbent enough to say.

Gerard gestured for Miranda to precede him out of the coach, but she shook her head violently.

“Miranda, what is going on?” he whispered to her.

Her only answer was to say in a neutral tone, “I shall pass you your cane, Captain Foremont.”

Gerard gritted his teeth at the necessity of being assisted from the coach by his father and the footman. A year ago, he would have …

Best not to think of it.

He had just taken his cane from Miranda when Felicity, Lady Belmoore, came out to greet them. “Mr. and Mrs. Foremont, you are come at last. And Gerard, you are looking well.” Her smile froze before it reached her blue eyes. “How good of you to give Miranda a lift to the house, but quite unnecessary of you.”

“Whyever not?” Gerard said with a touch of belligerence. “Miranda is hardly a scullery maid.”

“It is my fault entirely,” his father interjected. “Miranda demurred, but I insisted when I heard she was returning from an errand. We have brought her home sooner in case she should be needed.”

“So kind of you,” Felicity said. “Come inside, out of this wind. There’s tea in the drawing room.”

Miranda followed everyone into the house, but Gerard caught the disapproving look that Felicity shot toward her.

He was careful in climbing the stairs, his good leg beginning to shake with the strain from the two flights of the grand staircase. By the time he’d finally reached the drawing room with his parents and Felicity, Miranda had disappeared.

He lowered himself into a gold and white striped chair, but his leg gave out and he fell heavily into the seat, making it wobble on its delicately carved legs. He winced. Yes, Gerard, the quickest way to cultivate Cecil’s good graces is to break his furniture.

Felicity’s eyes widened slightly, but when the chair held, she relaxed.

“Gerard, I would not have thought the stairs to be so cumbersome for you,” his mother said critically.

He had been used to his commanders shouting in his face, but his mother’s impatience with his slow rate of recovery had worn through his temper like a taut length of rope being slowly shredded by friction. He was tempted to reply with some caustic remark, but held his tongue in front of Felicity.

Ever the peacemaker, his father said, “I wonder, Felicity, if we could beg your indulgence. Perhaps it would be best to give Gerard a room on this floor?”

“Oh, it would be no trouble at all,” she said.

Gerard pressed his lips together briefly before answering politely, “Thank you, I would be most appreciative.”

“If you will excuse me a moment to speak to my staff.” Felicity rose and left the drawing room.

Gerard took advantage of the moment of privacy to lean closer to his parents. “What is going on with respect to Miranda?” he demanded in a low voice.

His parents looked at each other, that uncanny way they could communicate without speaking.

“Would you rather discuss this with Felicity here?” Gerard asked.

His mother sighed. “So awkward.”

“What is?”

“Miranda’s position in this household,” she said.

“I don’t understand. She’s Cecil’s cousin.”

“Her parents died in great debt,” his father said. “Their tenant farms had been in decline for years and the house was mortgaged to the hilt. Cecil was forced to settle their obligations with the bank, and then to take Miranda into his household.”

Gerard could imagine how Cecil had felt about that. He was scrupulous with his money, to the point that he was a bit of a nip-farthing even though his wealth was substantial. It would have been painful for him to part with so much of his blunt to pay his uncle’s debts.

“Felicity was not best pleased,” his mother said. “She and Miranda have never gotten along.”

“But I don’t understand why—”

“I apologize,” Felicity said as she sailed back into the room. “It is so difficult to find good servants these days. They never seem to understand what you wish them to do. Could I pour you more tea, Mrs. Foremont?”

At that moment, the door opened again and Cecil’s aunt, Mrs. Augusta Hathaway, burst into the room. “John and Mary, I have only just heard you were arrived. How lovely to see you. And little Gerard!” She did not wait for him to struggle to his feet, but bent to kiss his cheek, enveloping him in her expensive French perfume. “You are looking so well.”

“Hardly little any longer, Mrs. Hathaway,” Gerard said.

“You will always be little to me, no matter how you grow.” Mrs. Hathaway plopped herself down upon the sofa. “You must tell me how you all have been doing. Felicity, be a dear and pour me a cup of tea. I am parched after settling the children in the nursery.”

“Oh, you must tell me how your granddaughters are,” his mother said. “I have not seen them since last Christmas.”

Gerard said little as the others talked. He was not skilled at waiting, but it seemed he must wait for an explanation of what had happened to Miranda for her to be treated so differently by her own family. It upset him. His own extended Foremont relations would not have treated a poor relation so shabbily.

His father had been good friends with Edward Belmoore, Sir Cecil’s uncle and Ellie’s grandfather, since they were schoolboys together, which was why the Foremonts were always invited to Wintrell Hall for the elaborate Christmas celebrations. He was friendly with the Belmoores, but he had sometimes disagreed with the way the family conducted themselves in their relationships with others.

He disliked the little that he understood about the goings-on here. He thought of the men who had died under his command, and the injuries he had suffered. What had they all fought for when there was still such injustice at home?

***
Next blog post: Chapter 2a

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